Solenopsesse Invicta
by LilyBaggins
Summary: *Slash* Purely silly humor. Frodo suffers from a bit of insomnia due to a certain ranger's presence.


FIC: SOLENOPSESSE INVICTA  
  
AUTHOR: Lily Baggins  
  
RATING: PG   
  
PAIRING: F/A  
  
Disclaimers. The usual. I make no money off of this and do not own these characters, much to my chagrin. They belong to Tolkien Enterprises and New Line Productions, and I only give them interesting---and usually unpleasant---ways to spend their time.   
  
NOTE: A goofy PWP, but not in the way you think. And no, the title is *not* really Elvish. ; )  
****  
  
ONE O'CLOCK A.M. BY FRODO'S BEST RECKONING  
  
The man was so *close.*  
  
Well, maybe not *that* close, but from where Frodo lay, he could just detect, if he squinted really hard, Aragorn's eyelashes fluttering slightly as he slept. Not to mention study the man's sensitive and yet altogether capable hands mere inches from the hilt of his weapon, not really relaxed even in sleep.  
  
Frodo could relax him, of that, the hobbit was certain.  
  
Indeed, all Frodo really needed to do was scoot his bedroll eight feet more to the right and he'd practically be in Aragorn's arms, pressed up against that hard rangerish flesh. Would the man notice? Would he care? Would he even *like* it?  
  
The hobbit wasn't certain. He considered attempting the move just a bit at a time, but then decided against it. He'd best lie quietly so the others wouldn't notice anything amiss.   
***  
  
ONE-THIRTY A.M. BY FRODO'S BEST RECKONING  
  
The ground was mighty lumpy here, thought Frodo to himself. He determined that if he grabbed a fistful of bedroll and pushed it to the right, then did the same with the bottom end, he could cause the whole thing to inch over a tad without even having to get up.   
  
A perfect plan, as the ground nearer to Aragorn looked to be much more level.   
  
After maneuvering the blankets to just the right spot, Frodo lay down again, a bit miffed that now his bedroll was wrinkled. Ah well --- small price to pay for a nice, smooth sleeping surface.   
  
And look---the heir of Isildur slept but six feet away.   
***  
  
TWO-O'CLOCK A.M. BY FRODO'S BEST RECKONING  
  
Frodo's brow wrinkled up in a scowl to match the wrinkles in his bedroll. This would never do---the mess of blankets was all bunched up and digging into his spine, making him extremely uncomfortable.   
  
Best to fix it and be done with it so he could get a good night's sleep.   
  
On his hands and knees he began to straighten the bedroll, then gave up and stood, grasping the ends and gently billowing the whole thing out until it landed smooth and straight, creating a light breeze that stirred Aragorn's hair as he slept nearby. Not that Frodo noticed.   
  
Finally the bedroll was nice and evened out, although it ended up lying a *trifle* further to the right than it had before---not much, but some.   
  
Yawning, the hobbit lay down again and curled up, his eyelids growing heavy as he gazed at Aragorn's blurry form some five feet away.   
***  
  
TWO THIRTY A.M. BY FRODO'S BEST RECKONING  
  
Staring up at the stars was getting boring. Watching Aragorn, vulnerable in sleep, was much more entertaining.   
  
Frodo had also determined after some analysis that the area under part of his bedroll was a little too damp for his liking, and so he had, with ever-present hobbit practicality, moved it to the right where the grass was dryer and bouncier and much more pleasant.   
  
Plopping himself back down, he sighed. Much better. And hmmm . . . he was a foot closer to Aragorn. He wondered, briefly, what the man would do if he woke in the night to find a warm hobbit pressed close against him. Could Frodo plead sleepwalking?  
  
****  
  
THREE O'CLOCK A.M. BY FRODO'S BEST RECKONING  
  
The moonlight shining just *so* through the trees was most annoying, and blast it, Frodo was going to do something about it.   
  
Lying on his back and using four fingers, he calculated that if he migrated just a hair to the right the boughs of the tree overhead would block the irritating moonlight.   
  
A plan, then.   
  
Without even rising to his feet, Frodo scooched sideways, pulling his blankets with him, and resettled. Oh yes---much better. And was that an owl hooting? He felt sure it was, staring up at the dark branches for a pair of round yellow eyes before lowering his own eyes to feast on the ranger who slept nearby---about three feet away.   
  
***  
  
THREE-THIRTY A.M. BY FRODO'S BEST RECKONING  
  
Was it Frodo's imagination, or was there a rock under his bedroll? Not a pebble, not a small stone, but a big huge rock a hobbit couldn't even fit into the palm of his hand.   
  
At any rate, now Aragorn had turned over onto his side, away from Frodo, giving the hobbit a sneaking advantage. He certainly wouldn't be able to see if Frodo moved his bedroll a tad, and so would never suspect anything. Not that there was anything *to* suspect, of course. Nothing at all.  
  
As quietly as a cat, the hobbit rose to his furry feet and tiptoed back a bit, moving his blanket just a hair to the right. Maybe only a foot or so the right.   
  
Well. Was it his imagination now, or was Aragorn only two feet away? How had that happened?  
  
***  
  
FOUR O'CLOCK A.M. BY FRODO'S BEST RECKONING  
  
Frodo had to admit it . . . he'd purposely moved his bedroll just to be closer to Aragorn. But what a silly thing for someone to do---especially Frodo Baggins, gentlehobbit of the Shire.   
  
Well, he'd move his bedroll back and no one would ever know.   
  
Just as he'd made up his mind he felt it . . . a stinging sensation on his hand, then another on his wrist. And looking down, spied a rather unsavory-looking fat red ant crawling up his shirt sleeve . . . and another . . . and another . . .   
  
Oh drat! There were several of them . . . he'd apparently moved his blankets to lie on top of an anthill! Stifling an oath , Frodo quickly sat up and began brushing himself off as best he could, crawling off the bedroll.   
  
"Frodo? Whatever is the matter?" It was Aragorn's voice, and the ranger was staring at the hobbit as if Frodo had just grown oliphaunt ears. And most especially, at the proximity of said hobbit's bedroll.   
  
"Nothing, just a few ants," Frodo answered, cringing at his stupidity.   
  
"Ah, solenopsesse invicta," Aragorn said, rising. "Yes, I noticed what I thought might be an anthill prior to settling down, though at the time, I didn't think to warn you, as your bedroll was . . . not there. Here, let me help you."  
  
Aragorn knelt in front of the hobbit, unbuttoning Frodo's shirt to check for the beastly insects, his sure hands making the sparse hair on Frodo's flesh stand on end.  
  
"Well," Aragorn said, "I believe they are all off of you. If you got stung---"  
  
"No, I'm fine, really. Thank you, though. What word did you say earlier? Is it Elvish?"  
  
"Indeed. The Elvish word for 'fire ant,'---what they call those troublesome pests, which can be very dangerous." The ranger picked up Frodo's bedroll and gave it a thorough shake-down before settling it down on the other side of his own, only a foot or so away. "Here, this spot looks fine. Lie down and take some rest, now. We've a long day's journey ahead."  
  
The hobbit nodded, settling himself down, aware that Aragorn was doing the same. Frodo scowled as the man dropped immediately off to sleep as was his usual wont, apparently puzzled but unwilling at this hour to inquire about Frodo's migrating bedroll.   
  
Sighing, the hobbit curled up and closed his eyes.   
  
***  
  
FOUR-THIRTY A.M. BY FRODO'S BEST RECKONING  
  
Frodo stirred, restless, ignoring the manly scent of the sleeping ranger just two feet or so to his left. And also ignoring the long suede-clad legs . . . and the way the man's hair fell just *so* over his brow . . .   
  
Fiddlesticks and a curse on those dreaded solenopsesse invictas. If not for them, the ranger wouldn't have moved Frodo's bedroll at all. But as it stood now, the two of them were practically sleeping on top of each other.   
  
Well, not *really*---a bit of ground could still be seen between their respective blankets.   
  
But all the same, now Frodo would never get to sleep with Aragorn so close.   
  
The End 


End file.
